Two forearms pressed together show black script lettering reading Forgive my sins and Touch my soul, with a red and multicoloured woven bracelet on one wrist.

Matching script quote tattoos on forearms

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two inner forearms are pressed together, each carrying a line of black cursive script. The upper line reads Forgive my sins and the lower reads Touch my soul, with fine, even linework and solid black ink. The warm skin tones and soft blurred background keep the focus on the lettering, while a braided red and multicoloured bracelet crosses the lower wrist.

Lettering Forearm Quote Script Word Matching tattoo Bracelet

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Halloran Brothers Travelling Big Top had been folding its tents for two winters before anyone admitted it, and by the autumn of the Blackpool contract there were more ropes than performers. Dess and I were the last two who still flew. She caught and I swung. The night before the final season we sat in a caravan that smelled of liniment and wet sawdust and wrote on each other's arms with a bottle of ink that Sol the strongman swore had come from a proper parlour in Leeds.

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Hers was the first line, Forgive my sins, a joke from a Methodist aunt who had never once been to a circus. Mine was Touch my soul, which I was too embarrassed to say aloud, so I let the needle do the talking. When the lines were finished we pressed our forearms together to let them dry, and Dess tied a braided thread bracelet from a Cornish fairground stall across my wrist, red and orange and a green that had mostly run to brown.

The last show was a Saturday in March. The insurers had pulled the net, so Dess insisted on the triple without it, and I hung upside down on the bar with my arms out while the band played something jaunty that nobody could hear over the crowd. She let go. For one long beat I saw nothing but the rafters and the cold lights, and then my forearm met hers and the thread caught on her wrist and held. We hung there swaying, both of us laughing, and the audience thought it was part of the act.

The canvas went to a scrapyard in Preston. The ink has faded to a soft grey now, but if I press my arm against hers, the two lines still meet in the middle and read as one sentence.